


Hard Way Home

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gold Sickness, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Sexual Content, but not that sad, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was deluded; Bilbo did not fully admit to himself that he could be so persuaded by a deep voice—that a song made him ache for adventure, made him homesick for somewhere he'd never been. Somewhere beneath his denial was a shallow attraction, a feeling that rushed through him when Thorin was near that made his blood rush and his eyes linger.</p>
<p>Leaving home was easy, it's coming back that's hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Way Home

It had been many days since Bilbo left his former companions behind to return home. The hobbit traveled on somberly, escorted by Gandalf through the hills and trails. He was thankful for the wizard's skill with small talk and the way he often mumbled on about the landmarks they passed, making sure to never leave Bilbo with too many of his own thoughts.

In the face of the hollow of loss, the hobbit tried to focus on his home—sitting down to tea, reading by the fire, watching the sun set from his garden in the warm breeze—but even normally fond things filled him with guilt and remorse. The idea of being relaxed felt like betrayal, like he would be forgetting those lost. As awful as he felt, there was nothing that scared him more than the idea that the pain might fade. Bilbo felt a darkness settling in, at war with his own emotions—trying to heal but clinging to the sting of his wounds.

He could hardly help but slip into fantasy, that maybe something could be done to erase reality. Despite the magic in the world, there was nothing that could undo death, and it was for the best, but reason did not stop him from wanting. 

“I miss them,” Bilbo spoke softly and abruptly after a few moments of quiet. The subject was always just below the surface, and he knew the wizard was carefully waiting to broach it when appropriate. Gandalf glanced from where he trod ahead, shooting the hobbit a sympathetic smile.

“And I'm sure you always will,” the wizard replied. “But they live differently now, in stories and memories.” A new silence settled between them as they rode. Bilbo's heart still ached, with fear and hope it was permanent. Though he appreciated Gandalf for trying to help, as always.

Night fell as they made their humble camp. The grassy hills seemed to go on forever around them, no danger or urgency looming in the distance, just but a gentle breeze. Bilbo stared into the small fire blazing before him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and clutched tightly in his fists. Gandalf cleared their bowls from dinner, then took a seat closely beside his small friend, sensing his want to speak his feelings. Bilbo looked up at him and smiled, weak but genuine. 

“I know you loved him.” Bilbo grew stiff, and turned back to the fire. Gandalf gave an interrogative look. “You may be able to sneak your way around goblins and dragons, but I am another beast entirely.”

Bilbo chuckled uncomfortably. “I...” Bilbo stammered a bit, suddenly wanting to cry, though he thought his tear ducts had run dry by now. “It was a foolish thing,” he managed to say, holding himself together shakily. “...but still I don't think I regret it.”

“Perhaps it was foolishness on your part—but I am not entirely free from blame. You never seemed to be a Hobbit for settling down. Perhaps I took advantage of that knowledge when I wrangled you into a company of rugged dwarves.” Gandalf seemed as genuine as a wizard could.

Bilbo huffed. “It was my choice—everything. You shouldn't feel sorry for me.” He looked up to the sky, watching the smoke waft up towards the stars in the night. 

Gandalf leaned over to his companion and gave him a friendly, reassuring pat on his shoulder.

The hobbit was still empty in a way he never had been before. At the beginning of their journey, he was unearthing so many hidden desires, things he'd written off when he was still very young. His soul had finally felt awake. He grew to thirst for adventure, found joy outside the Shire. But it seemed like their start was incredibly long ago, the travels and heartache drained him so. 

His first meeting with the dwarves felt like another lifetime.

 

He was deluded; Bilbo did not fully admit to himself that he could be so persuaded by a deep voice—that a song made him ache for adventure, made him homesick for somewhere he'd never been. Somewhere beneath his denial was a shallow attraction, a feeling that rushed through him when Thorin was near that made his blood rush and his eyes linger. Ever since he was a child, a curious spirit always lived within him—one that took him to the borders, into the trees, through tall grasses in search of the unusual and magic. It had been locked away in recent years, suppressed by normal life and a call to decency, but it was awakened again that night by a mischievous wizard and a beautiful song. 

From that point on, every action Thorin took to assist him on their journey left Bilbo with growing frustration, guilt, and fondness. He never wanted to be a burden, and watching Thorin save him from trolls and cliffs put Bilbo in a position of both great admiration of their leader and disappointment in his own ability. 

He wasn't a hobbit lacking in self-assurance, but something tugged within him seeking approval, wanting acceptance. Though certainly hotheaded and impatient, Bilbo couldn't entirely blame the dwarf for thinking him unfit to be part of the company. He wasn't something special, he wasn't made for action, but he would try to pull his weight and stifle his complaints.

The group spent their downtime at camp recalling past adventures, and a common theme emerged. Each day brought more tales of Thorin's bravery, his loyalty and kindness—Bilbo tried not to seem too eager, too interested, but was always happy to hear more. It was comforting to Bilbo in a way, that all his dwarf companions thought so highly of Thorin. It helped to calm his unease being around him. He eventually believed that the hardened exterior could be chiseled away in time, that it was surely up to him to prove he was worthy of friendship and trust. It was something he wanted very much. 

First impressions were hard to shake, Bilbo knew, but he wouldn't hold grudges. He made up his mind to commit to Thorin with the loyalty the others held, despite what the would-be-king thought of him. After their encounter with the goblins, Bilbo felt a new sense of purpose. He could hold his own, maybe even offer something no one else could. As stubborn as dwarves were, he believed in the power of manners and a little hobbitish charm—and assistance from the ring he'd found, and the sword he kept, of course.

Prepared with his new tools, Bilbo felt ready for battle. All their tales of past journeys, bravery and loyalty had gotten to him over the weeks and days. He would never be one of them if he didn't commit with his life. But battle was still terrifying, and he was unsure with every footstep taken. The only thing he was sure of was that he had to fight, he had to protect his new friends as they did for him. He owed Thorin for his life on several occasions—he could not simply watch helplessly as he was destroyed.

The relief Bilbo felt when Thorin awoke atop the Carrok was overwhelming. Not only had they all survived the most frightful encounter of Bilbo's life, he knew he'd finally earned that respect and won a friendship he was so timidly hoping for. 

After their harrowing night, everyone needed a day of rest, despite the dangers surrounding them. The company moved quickly to set up camp. They prepared as grand a meal as they could manage, and there was a joyous air of calm as the stars began to twinkle. Bilbo was enjoying all the stories being traded, and his heart felt full with each distinct laugh he heard—so grateful to savor each and every one of them. He could not bear the idea of losing anyone.

Bilbo sat awake later in the night near their dying fire, after most of the company had succumbed to their exhaustion, properly asleep or passed out in a huddle. The memory of Thorin's warm, tender embrace still fluttered in his thoughts, despite Bilbo's attempts to push it away. He was feeling things he hadn't since he was very young, and mostly he dreaded it. Yet a nagging part of him, the part of him that was stronger everyday, the part that pushed him towards adventures and filled him with courage, was utterly delighted by it. 

He'd long resigned himself to singularity—he was happy to, really. He had not wanted for anyone in any real way, not for some time. It was simply not done in the shire, to want for someone of the same sex. The few who dared to look for such relationships were ridiculed and reviled. This didn't stop him at first, but after a few encounters the risk of social destruction outweighed the desire for intimacy. He preferred being alone than a life spent in shadows, resigned to fulfill his want for romance with his books, including some rather scandalous writings from the elves—they had some fascinating ideas.

But Thorin was fogging up his mind with unusual thoughts and desires. The ideas were only encouraged by Thorin's behavior that day. The smile did not leave the king's face, and he did not leave Bilbo's side. 

Thorin's hand was rested reassuringly on Bilbo's shoulder as they stared into the fire before them. The hobbit tried not to linger on of Thorin's touches that day, for fear he was projecting too much meaning into them. As much as he found himself attracted to Thorin, he was more afraid of looking a fool. Thorin was a dwarf, a warrior, a male, a king—he could not approach his relationship with Thorin as if he were just another curious young hobbit from the shire. But a wicked, clever spark had been ignited in Bilbo, and he was determined to at least win the king's close friendship, and maybe a good story to tell when he returned home.

“We shall have to move quickly when the sun rises. They won't be far behind us.” Thorin spoke sternly, without fear. “Get some rest, master burglar. It's well-deserved.” 

Bilbo smiled softly and sighed. “I suggest you do the same,” he said, eying and gesturing at Thorin's bandaged wounds. 

Thorin laughed under his breath as Bilbo stood to leave. The dwarf lifted his gaze to meet Bilbo's as he turned. The dwarf's expression was filled with such a tenderness Bilbo had never imagined to see. The hobbit couldn't help but smile warmly in kind, his face feeling flush.

“I have the luxury of enjoying the night because of you, and I will for a few moments longer. For that I am very grateful. You have my trust and my thanks.”

Bilbo's grin stretched shamelessly across his face, and he bowed slightly with humor to the king before he left to his bedroll. “At your service.”

“Sleep well, halfling.” The look Thorin gave him sent chills down his spine, his half-lidded eyes accentuating his sultry tone.

Bilbo indeed slept well that night—though the air was chill he was warmed by his own contentedness, and he allowed his thoughts to drift to Thorin. His imagination ran wild with things he wouldn't normally entertain even in fantasy. After that night, it didn't feel so strange to think of tender embraces, deep late night conversations, ducking away for quick kisses along the road. He was just a hobbit from the shire, but Thorin didn't seem so far away now. He felt connected to him finally, even if Thorin had no desire for him in that way. 

Bilbo was awake early the next morning, taking the opportunity to explore a grassy area nearby where wild flowers bloomed. He took in a deep breath and for a moment was remind of home, expecting to feel a tinge of loss as he usually did when he thought of bag end. But this morning was different. He was happier to be where he was—he didn't feel that longing for home this day. 

“Bilbo!” He turned around to the voice behind him—Balin walked up to him with a smile on his face and a bounce in his beard. “I didn't expect to see you up so early.”

“I wanted to come see the flowers before we started off again,” Bilbo replied with a soft smile. 

“Such a gentle thing, you are,” the dwarf teased. “It's a wonder you can put up with the rest of us brutes.” 

“No, believe it or not I quite like you all quite well,” The hobbit dipped into thought for a moment, then decided to take advantage of his opportunity to speak with Balin alone, assured of receiving truthful answers without fear of potentially being mocked and gossiped about later on, as he expected would happen if he spoke to Thorin's nephews instead. Balin was trustworthy and had taken to Bilbo early on, guiding him when possible and being consistently understanding of their cultural differences. The elder dwarf could sense the impending barrage of questioning. “I was hoping you could help me with something.” 

“Yes, laddie?”

“You're dwarves,” he started, trying hard to construct his phrasing, “and I'm... not.” Balin nodded, giving him an inquisitive eye. “I'm sure there are things that are done... and things that aren't, among dwarves.” Balin shook his head, signaling he had not yet picked up on what Bilbo was tiptoeing around. “What I mean to say is—it is expected for hobbits to live a certain way, in a respectable way. We keep our gardens, we participate in local celebrations... and either you settle down to marry and have little hobbits, or you maintain your household alone. And other such customs,” he trailed on. 

Balin reached to pet his beard and nodded perceptively. “Ah, I see.” 

“Not that all hobbits agree or abide by these traditions,” Bilbo stammered. “And of course others have their own ways—dwarves, men... and elves. For example, with elves... it's not unheard of for a male elf to...” 

“Dwarves,” Balin interrupted, sensing the discomfort in the hobbit's voice, “have a profound regard for love.” Bilbo frowned slightly, his brow furrowed with disappointment, but the dwarf smiled reassuringly as he continued. “In fact, it is held in such great respect, that to meddle in it would be deeply shameful—regardless of where that love is directed.” Bilbo tried to hide his grin as it forced its way out, and Balin flashed a smirk in kind. “Why, I remember two lads I knew who wed despite the taller one not being able to grow more than a few whiskers on his chin! The family was flabbergasted, but in the end they all came together in support—it's just what we do.” 

“That's lovely,” Bilbo said, a weight lifted from his shoulders. For all the things he loved of home, and for all the ways the behavior of dwarves could get to him at times, he felt quite lucky to be amongst them now. “And how do dwarves approach one another? For courtship?” 

“If your intentions are what I believe them to be, I think you're mad.” Balin chortled. 

“So you think it's a lost cause?” Bilbo shrugged—he didn't expect the idea of attempting to pursue Thorin Oakenshield to be be embraced or encouraged, especially by someone as level-headed as Balin. It was crazy, after all.

“I think it's a foolish endeavor—but most courtships are. Although if you're curious as to how to go about it, you seem to be doing quite well so far. He's definitely warmed up to you, we all can see it.” 

The hobbit smiled again. “Any advice?”

“Don't. But if you do, take things slowly and be mindful of the quest. The two of you are just finally getting along, the last thing we need is another disturbance.”

Bilbo nodded and took Balin's words to heart. It would be unfortunate to make the rest of their travels unbearably awkward if things didn't exactly go as planned—not just for Bilbo, but for everyone.

 

They proceeded onward, eventually finding themselves in the company of Gandalf's friend Beorn. Bilbo was thankful to be sleeping under a roof for once. Plus, he found their host to be rather incredible—such a large, impressive being, yet he was so caring and gentle to the creatures he kept. 

Most of the dwarves did not see him in the same light.

“Be careful that he does not pop your head like a pustule in your sleep tonight,” Thorin directed in a quiet grunt towards Bilbo as Beorn left their company after dinner. The dwarves were all seated at the large table, and the hobbit had naturally taken a place next to Thorin, as he had done ever since that fateful night with the pale orc. Thorin often came to him for advice now, and simply to speak his mind. Bilbo and Thorin did not always agree, but there was enough respect between them for it not to matter. 

“It's not a top concern of mine,” Bilbo answered back quickly. “Besides, if he was going to pop anyone's head it would probably be yours.” He realized only after speaking that the issue of decapitation was perhaps a sore subject with Thorin, but luckily he was given a pass. “You aren't the most appreciative house guest—I would know.”

“Yet you are departing with me in the morning and not remaining in the barn with this beast,” the dwarf replied, only half joking in his tone.

“I assure you, when you are around I worry more about what you will do than what others will do to me. Take that however you choose,” Bilbo spoke with a smirk, standing up to leave for bed. As he turned he was halted by Thorin's strong hand gripping the crook of his arm, the dwarf leaning in to whisper to him.

“I know you jest, but I wish no harm upon you. Trust that I will not hurt you, halfling.” Thorin slid his hand away to let Bilbo continue his walk to where they all set out their bedrolls. The hobbit was thankful for the darkness that hid the redness of his face. He fumbled into his blanket and rested on his back, staring up at the high ceiling, trying to ignore the rising heat that threatened to consume him. He pretended to sleep until he was sure the others were out, then used his ring to slip outside for some cool air and some time alone.

He wouldn't have a good night's sleep for quite a while after that. They found themselves in the Mirkwood forest, overcome by some strange force—or were they? At first Bilbo believed he was just sick with exhaustion, tired from his lack of rest, crazy from being away from home too long. Plus, he was quite certain they had been traveling in circles, though most did not question Thorin and Dwalin's directions.

The company was scattered around the base of an enormous tree, some emptying rocks from their boots and other muttering about to each other, or nobody—it was hard to keep track. Bilbo was trying incredibly hard to focus on figuring out a way out of the forest, but his body was tired and his mind was wandering. He felt a set of hands grip his shoulders. 

“Mr. Baggins, something's not right here,” he heard Fili say on his left.

“He's right. I feel it too,” Kili added from his right.

He looked from one boy to another, attempting to grasp what they were saying but finding it hard not to just linger on their features, never having noticed their resemblance to Thorin as much before. Especially Fili, he thought. Lighter in complexion, but with that majestic air, firm jawline, thick hair...

“I think … you're right,” Bilbo slurred as he pawed at Fili's face. 

“Mr. Boggins,” Kili called from behind him now, shaking his shoulder to try to snap him out of his trance. The hobbit's hands were firmly on Fili's cheeks, his head limp and the rest of his body slumped over onto the young dwarf's chest. The brothers looked at each other in confusion as the hobbit nuzzled into Fili's chest deliriously. “Mr. Boggins, wake up!”

All at once Bilbo stood at attention, shaking his head vigorously and releasing the poor dwarf. 

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked, rudely. 

“What am I doing!? You're the one writhing up against me!” Fili said with a halfhearted shove at the halfling. 

“Why on earth would I do that?” Bilbo asked, still not entirely together. 

Kili took this moment to be slightly offended for his own brother and gave the hobbit a shove of his own.

“Fili, Kili, what are you doing?” Thorin's voice came thundering in, taking them all by surprise. The forest had a strange effect on all of them, but Thorin's madness seemed a bit different. He appeared to be more aware than the others, but much more... scary, Bilbo decided. “Leave the halfling alone and help with Bombur.” He pushed the brothers off towards the rest of the group, then turned back to Bilbo and stared at him, a distinct craze in his eyes, but with inkling enough of concern to not make the hobbit overly frightened. “Did they hurt you?” 

“What? No. Of... of course not.” Bilbo found himself becoming mesmerized by those features yet again. His eyes followed the line of Thorin's beard along his jaw to the braids in his hair, down to his broad shoulders and arms and the hands that gripped him then—he felt weightless for a moment, like he was being lifted, but he closed his eyes and could not get them to open again to find out. He reached out at Thorin until his hands wrapped in his hair. Instinctively he pulled in, until he felt the touch of lips against his neck. It seemed to go on forever, Thorin lightly nipping at him as the hobbit let out soft sounds of enjoyment in his half-asleep state. He was in ecstasy, at long last. Thorin's tongue against his skin was odd, he had to admit. Nothing at all like expected. The dwarf was exceedingly dry, as if he had no saliva at all—and his tongue was so smooth, almost like soft leather. Exactly like soft leather. Like the soft leather of the edge of Bofur's hat. 

Bilbo opened his eyes to find himself in a pile of mostly sleeping dwarves. Sure enough, Bofur was beside him, his hat brushing against the hobbit's neck as its wearer snored. 

“Alright,” he said to himself with some disappointment, slapping himself into consciousness as he stood.

They wandered the path through the forest for a long time after, odd and sometimes erotic thoughts popping into Bilbo's mind and quickly getting pushed out by his own focus. He would not let this forest get the best of him, he owed that much to the company. 

His focus carried him up trees and through webs, mustering up his courage and utilizing his ring to save his dwarves from the hungry spiders of the forest. Danger did not leave them long, though, and they were swiftly taken by Elves and locked up deep in their halls. Bilbo kept close and alert, filled with purpose. He hid in wait and remained unseen, even to his companions. He heard them sob, bursting with sorrow—Balin in particular did not think they would ever escape. He wanted to reach out his hand to him, to reassure his friend that he was trying and he would get them out, but he could not risk being found himself. 

Most had given up, all but Thorin and his kin. Fili seemed determined as ever—Kili on the other hand appeared to have no grasp of the situation at all, focusing all his attention on the elf maiden who guarded him, his expression always delighted and amused. Bilbo hoped for a fleeting moment that his behavior was not as transparent as Kili's in regards to Thorin, lest he parish from embarrassment. It was hard not to be sympathetic, though. He occasionally heard Thorin speak up as well, amidst the others' cries and dismay—saying there was still hope they all would be rescued, and sounding so damned sure of it. Bilbo knew Thorin was thinking of him, and trusting him so completely that he had no doubt the hobbit would be their savior. 

Bilbo waited in quiet confidence, and acted when the chance presented itself. 

 

It had been a long time since any of the company felt so joyful and unrestrained. Their arrival in Laketown was exhausting as the rest of the journey, but tonight, finally, they had support. Thorin had given a rousing speech, and although some were still doubtful, there was no immediate danger. There was nobody to run from for the time being. In the morning they would depart again, but for the first time in so long they were free to celebrate and exist in the open, mingle freely, and drink to their content. 

The rational part of Bilbo's mind knew they should get as much rest as possible before taking off, but with perhaps the greatest danger ahead, it was nice to see everyone happy now. It would be a shame to cut the celebration short. 

Bilbo spent most of the night seated next to Balin, listening to the boisterous dwarvish story-telling around him. He was thankful for the older dwarf with his willingness to translate and explain things to Bilbo's level of understanding. 

“And why would it matter that he carried an axe?”

“See laddie, it was not any axe—it was the axe of his great grandfather, carved from the purest white stone of his homeland. You are thinking of it as a weapon, and not as what it represents: his heritage.”

“I think I get it now,” Bilbo said after a large gulp of his drink. Balin smiled and nodded.“I heard you mention a library, in The Lonely Mountain. I would very much like to see it, assuming there's anything still there. Judging by the stories I've heard during our time together, dwarves must have written a lot of exciting books.”

“I will give you the grand tour, if we aren't burnt to char by a dragon before then of course,” Balin chuckled. Bilbo smiled back, but the dwarf's words still made him feel a bit uneasy—though he was surprised at how at peace he was with the idea of being devoured by a dragon compared to when it was first proposed to him. He had survived through a lot, after all. He knew he had the wit to escape many sticky situations, and when that failed there was the ring he'd picked up to conceal him. He was beginning to think himself almost invincible. 

“I must say, I'm feeling a bit courageous,” Bilbo admitted after another small sip, his fingers tapping playfully on his glass. 

“That'll be the drink,” Balin replied smugly. 

A loud cheer followed by laughter came from behind them, where most of the dwarves and some townsfolk were gathered around Thorin. Fili and Kili were off to his side, noticeably distracted from the fun of the night by Kili's injury, as hard as they tried to have fun. Thorin was clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving, and downed what looked like nearly half his glass in one gulp. 

“He'll be King Under The Table soon enough,” the hobbit quipped. 

“We may want to pry him away from his admirers, or we'll never leave for the mountain in the morning.” The dwarf was clearly joking, but there was a shred of concern in his voice. 

“I can't blame them for wanting some of his time before we go.” Bilbo stared into his glass.

“You should talk to him. You have just as much right as any, if not more.” Balin spoke in a knowing voice that made Bilbo feel prickly and hot in the face. “Besides, he's so full of alcohol, and you've such a way with words, there's no telling what you might talk him into.” 

Bilbo took another large gulp of his drink, then dropped his glass down carefully. “Prepare for an awkward boat ride tomorrow,” he said as he shoved away from the table and sauntered over to the lively group of drunken dwarves. Balin shook his head and laughed.

Bilbo crept into the circle of loud men, finding Thorin in the midst of retelling their adventures up to that point. Thorin stood with confidence upon a table as he spoke. The men, and even the dwarves who had been there, stared at him in awe as he recounted the tale. For someone normally so reserved, Thorin had a magnificent presence when story-telling. Maybe all dwarves did.

“...We fled to the cliffs, fire burning the trees we clung to. The pale orc filth was marching towards us, riding upon an enormous warg...”

“And then what happened?” the hobbit blurted out cheekily, looking up at the dwarf with a grin. He was fully anticipating a scowl in return for his rude interjection, but instead Thorin gripped him by the arm and pulled the hobbit up next to him on his perch. 

“It was then,” Thorin continued, turning his gaze away from the crowd to look intently upon Bilbo. “That our burglar came to my rescue, not for the last time.” He looked back to his audience. Bilbo felt his face getting hot with embarrassment at being made a spectacle. “He tackled the beast away, and brought his weapon up to fight. He is without a doubt the bravest halfling of them all, and a true friend, of that I am sure.” Thorin had a firm grip on the hobbit's shoulder, then slung an arm around him to assist him down from the table with a friendly tug. “Now, we best think of the journey ahead and get some rest tonight.” The men of the group groaned with disappointment, but everyone was understanding. Thorin kept his arm on Bilbo's shoulder as he walked them away from the crowd. “I wish to speak with you, in private,” he said, letting go of the hobbit and heading upstairs to a room he had been designated. 

Bilbo swallowed, paused for a moment, then hurried after. 

He opened the door slowly to find Thorin pouring water for them at a small table next to the bed. 

“What is it, Thorin?” Bilbo asked cautiously, walking in and grabbing a glass, thankful to drink something that wasn't more alcohol. 

“We're upon the final leg of our journey. Have you given any thought to what happens after?” The way Thorin was looking at him, unflinching and regal, made his heart drop and his cheeks flush. 

“I... I suppose I will return home—to Bag End. Perhaps visit the library in the mountain before I go, if I am able,” Bilbo said with a soft laugh. 

“You are welcome to do that, if that is your wish. I know you are a creature of habit, grown accustomed to your home and your comforts.” Thorin stopped to gauge the hobbit's expression for a moment. Bilbo could feel his heart beating through his chest, and set his cup of water on the table, no longer trusting his hands not to shake. “But know there is a place for you here, amongst my people, if you wish for something greater.” Bilbo breathed in sharply. “When I claim my place on the throne, I would have you at my side. I would have you stay in our land, and share in our home.” Thorin's eyes stayed focused on Bilbo's—his expression assured and genuine. 

The thought stirred in his mind—a life of hard stone, of little sun, of foreign lands—nothing he ever wanted... but a life with Thorin, a life near the one he loved, with his loyalty and stature. Bilbo looked up into the king's eyes, deeply lost in admiration as he had been the first time he heard his deep, longing voice fill his halls what felt like so long ago. He could not recall a time feeling so wanted.

“I'm not exactly experienced in the ways of dwarves, and I doubt you'll need the services of a burglar once this is over,” Bilbo spoke humbly. 

“I may require your services,” Thorin replied calmly, a smirk on his face.

Bilbo tilted his head, biting his lip as he stared at the dwarf's impish expression. A courage swept through his body and he took to his toes, extending himself to meet Thorin's lips with his own. They kissed slow, without selfish lust or hurried fear. Bilbo had so often thought of his home on this journey—suddenly so unsure of what that meant anymore, if it was even what he wanted, when he could have this. 

Parting, Thorin kept his eyes locked on Bilbo's, searching them for hesitation. “We leave for the mountain in the morning.” Bilbo nodded, his mind still a bit foggy from the rush of what was happening. “It will be dangerous, for us all.” Thorin slid his hand to Bilbo's jaw, taking his chin lightly. “But we have peace and privacy tonight. What would you have me do to you?” Bilbo jerked his head away, completely absorbed by his own embarrassment.

“Thorin...!” He felt scandalized despite the awareness that he brought this upon himself. Thorin seemed to enjoy it. “What are you suggesting, exactly?”

A sultry laugh was his response. “Don't play—I think you have proven yourself clever enough to realize my intentions.” Thorin's fingertips glided around the edge of Bilbo's ear, then down his neck, dancing over small and sensitive hairs, to his collarbone peaking out from under his clothing where he pressed firmly to ease the hobbit towards the room's large bed. Before he could protest, Bilbo found himself leaning against the mattress, Thorin towering over, holding him with strong arms. Abruptly Thorin steadied him by the hip and used his free hand to grab carelessly at Bilbo's trousers, groping him firmly through his clothes before moving to undo his buttons. 

“Hold up! Slow down!” Bilbo yelped as he grabbed Thorin's wrist. He ignored the grasp and continued to fondle the hobbit, now having invaded the boundaries of his garments. A knowing smirk graced his lips. “I'd like to have a say in this, thank you.”

“Would you have me stop?” Thorin looked at the hobbit intensely, despite Bilbo's attempts to avert his gaze. 

He swallowed and thought for a long, hard moment as he focused on Thorin's gaze. 

“Absolutely not.”

Thorin released a soft growl of a laugh and returned to his work, undoing buttons and tousling various garments to gain better access. Bilbo lost his will to retaliate and found himself caving in to the touch, falling to the bed with a sharp inhale. It wasn't exactly what he imagined—most of his fantasies consisted of dragging Thorin out to the woods and sucking him off behind a tree before anyone could notice they'd gone, or letting Thorin take him in the night, desperately trying not to wake the others while being pounded into the dirt. But the Thorin of reality was much less concerned with his own needs. Thorin's hands gripped firmly but gently, working him with agonizing, deliberate slowness—all while looking at him with low heat, his satisfaction coming from Bilbo's pleasure. 

He was so very glad he signed that contract now. 

“Undress,” Thorin instructed, continuing his slow strokes on Bilbo's almost painful hardness. “I want to see you.” Bilbo complied without thinking, tossing his garments to the floor. The hand on Bilbo's hip wandered higher to explore and feel Bilbo's now exposed body. 

Bilbo cried out when Thorin's fingertips landed on his chest and lightly tweaked his nipple. The soft touches were almost unbearably good. “I'm too far gone already,” he panted, Thorin sliding his palm along his length just a bit faster. “This will be over soon if you don't—stop...” The dwarf's hands were so large and strong, just the sight of them with Thorin's fascinated gaze upon his body was practically enough to make him spill. He held himself off, arching his back as he reached out for Thorin. “Let me touch you, too,” Bilbo strained for words, grasping at Thorin's sides, the dwarf still fully clothed. Thorin ignored his request and continued to caress and palm his hobbit—after a couple long minutes of this, Bilbo gave up any attempt to reciprocate in his haze of pleasure—he came hard in Thorin's hand with a muffled, joyful sound. Bilbo remained still for a while after, eyes closed, still not quite absorbing his situation. 

He cleaned himself up and Thorin helped him redress, though Bilbo thought that was unnecessary, he supposed it was sweet. It was also sweet, perhaps, the way the dwarf kept refusing his attempts to pleasure him in return, saying he was exhausted from the night, and that there would be plenty of time for that later, if Bilbo remained with him in Erebor. Thorin was still very attentive to him, rubbing his scalp gently as they fell asleep next to each other, a soft whisper of a song he loved lulling the hobbit in.

Maybe it would not be so strange to leave the shire—the mountain would be home to things he so wanted, that he could never have before.

The next morning they set off, tired but determined. Mere moments after they set foot on the mountain a tension filled the air. Bilbo could sense a change in all the dwarves, but especially Thorin. He hoped it was just the enormity of their task ahead, the pressure of the situation, but the nagging idea of what he overheard in Rivendell floated in the back of his mind—that a sickness lay upon the treasure in the mountain, a madness living in Thorin's blood. But he knew Thorin, he trusted him, and he believed he could be strong enough to overcome it if it was real.

Bilbo's resolve was tested by the might of Smaug—and his concerns over the gold were set aside in the face of the destruction they had released. His heart sank when the dragon departed to Laketown, not just for his friends that still remained there, but the innocent people they brought this upon. Regret flooded his soul as they watched the distant fire from the mountain. He believed the dwarves deserved their home, but at what cost? Certainly not at the cost of the people of Laketown. 

The company watched on in silence for some time. Thorin stood away, and Bilbo glanced over from time to time, hoping his dwarf was filled with the same regret he was. He hoped that, if they were able to escape with their lives, they would do something to help. That Thorin would snap into action and lead them on a rescue mission—away from the cursed gold and the cold mountain. They all continued to watch until the awesome fall of the dragon. How the people of the town did it, Bilbo did not know. But it was clear that the dragon was dead. 

Once it was the clear the Smaug was a threat no longer, Bilbo turned to where Thorin had been to find him gone, making his way into the halls of the Lonely Mountain no doubt. Everyone shared looks in confusion, and eventually ran after. 

When they were inside, some of the dwarves took the moment to wonder at the walls of their home again, too distracted by the beauty to care about anything else. Bilbo turned to Balin, and he gave Bilbo a worried look.

“He's probably with the treasure, looking for the Arkenstone.” Bilbo nodded and quickly hurried off to find him.

And sure enough he was there, fistfuls of gold in his hands, pawing through the piles of wealth in search. He intended to give Thorin the stone he desired, but Smaug's words still echoed in his ears. Bilbo's chest was still heavy, his head and heart pounding. Thorin was not himself, and it was distressingly obvious. He was afraid of what the Arkenstone might do to him further. 

The hobbit called out to him as he ran down the stairs into the hoards. Thorin turned to Bilbo as he approached, face pale and eyes dulled. 

“Where are the others? They should be searching with us,” Thorin grunted. Bilbo made a face.

“I'm sure they're on their way...” The hobbit knew it was probably best to tread carefully. He stepped towards the dwarf with caution, as if he were a frightened, injured animal who could lash out at any moment. “You know, the treasure is safe for right now. Maybe we should try to get back to Laketown first? The others, your nephews...” 

Bilbo let out a startled yelp when Thorin reached out and grabbed him by the fabric of his sleeve, pulling him closer. “They are my kin, they will make it here fine on their own,” he barked, though the hobbit sensed doubt in his voice. 

Thorin slapped his hands on Bilbo's shoulders and brought him in—there was an intensity in his expression, and it might have been attractive to Bilbo if he was not so deeply afraid that Thorin would find the Arkenstone he hid in his coat. The way Thorin's fingers massaged and guided him closer made it clear what was going through his mind, and Bilbo decided to use that to his temporary advantage. Bilbo promptly backed away out of the grasp, and for a moment Thorin looked hurt. He undid the tie at his waist, slide his coat off and gently set it near the base of the staircase—his secret safely out of Thorin's reach now. He looked back to see the dwarf smiling mischievously at him. 

“The light of the gold suits you.” Thorin's voice was heavy in his throat. Bilbo carefully hopped through the coins back and crouched down next to the king. He looked into his eyes, hoping to see that same dwarf he loved, something to let him know all this gold sickness business was overblown and he was okay. But it was not that easy. He was still unsure.

The dwarf's hands gripped at his arms again, and abruptly Bilbo found himself pinned on his back against the treasure, Thorin hovering over him.

“The other night...” Bilbo started, his voice getting lost in his throat as Thorin clutched at his shirt. “You never let me return the favor.” He hoped that invoking a more peaceful time might snap him back somehow—and it did feel a little manipulative. Maybe it was wrong, to touch him and enjoy him in his current state, yet he needed to believe Thorin Oaken was still in there somewhere under the madness, so this he did not dwell on as he freed the dwarf from his trousers.

Thorin did not fight him this time, urging him forward with every move and feeling him in return. Bilbo could not help enjoying it, as they fumbled in the metallic light to touch each other, the danger of someone finding them looming. But something still wasn't right. 

Bilbo had his face buried in Thorin's chest, squeezing his arm with his free hand as they mutually jerked each other. Nearing completion, he lifted his eyes to Thorin's searching them for that gentle expression he wore their first night together, that fondness that felt so much like home—but he did not find it. Thorin looked at him as if he were another gold coin in the hoard.

He wished they all would just leave the forsaken mountain.

The situation only worsened in the days that followed. The more time that passed looking for the Arkenstone, the more crazed Thorin became. Most of the company did as they were told, hoping it would blow over, or tried to justify it, because Thorin worked so hard to get them there—of course they would need to help him find the Arkenstone now. But not all were content to merely wait.

Dwalin would go to him each morning, urging Thorin to stop for a moment, to eat and take care of himself, and each morning he was turned away. Balin would check on him in the afternoon, talk to him calmly to assess his moods. And each night Bilbo would find him waiting, delirious with greed and lust, and try in vain to snap him out of his madness. 

With each day, Thorin became more suspicious of his friends, and the hope was being drained from Bilbo, Balin and Dwalin. They attempted to confront him together, but still he would not listen. Dwalin went back to searching the gold, fuming silently in his anger. Balin was too overcome to rejoin the others, and disappeared to the library—Bilbo followed after. The weight of his secret and closeness to Thorin hindered his interactions with the rest of the company in that time. Everyone was too distracted by Thorin's behavior, the uncertainty of what was ahead for them all. Bilbo could not let on about what he found to the others, for their desperation to find it was too great. But Balin was different—Balin he had confided in so much before, always with great understanding and without judgment. He knew they both wanted what was best for Thorin. 

Balin confirmed what Bilbo long suspected, that the stone being in Thorin's possession would only make things worse. The old dwarf wept to him openly, and Bilbo shed a tear of his own as they wandered through the library, investigating what was left of old dwarfish books, eventually pulling themselves together.

His heart ached—there were no words to make things better. He could only minimize damage, and hope maybe someday Thorin would get better. He was sure, too, that he could not stay there for long. He would not live with secrets. He did not want to remain there with the possibility that what he took could be discovered at any moment—that Thorin would find the stone and descend so far into his sickness that he could never recover. 

Bilbo resolved to return to Bag End, and take the stone with him, far away from Erebor and Thorin. And he would bury it deep in the ground somewhere along the way, where no one would ever think to look for it, and forget the location himself even, so that if they ever came to him looking he could not answer.

He wanted to depart on good terms, but once the people of Laketown and the elves approached Thorin began threatening war against them. Things grew much more desperate, and he only wished to leave knowing his dwarves would have a shot to survive through it all. He put together a plan—that maybe if he delivered the stone to the men and elves he could orchestrate some kind of bargain that would give all sides what they wanted. It would destroy all the trust Thorin held in him, but at this point Bilbo knew helping him might be at the cost of his love and friendship.

Bilbo intended to head off late in the night, but made sure to visit Thorin once more before—because he always did, and it might appear suspicious if he was absent, and also out of a selfish need to have anything close to a happy moment before he ran off to betray him. 

He clutched at the mithril beneath his clothes as he approached Thorin, who leaned on a rail staring out over the gold. Everyone had long gone to bed, but the king was awake, still searching from above in vain. Bilbo's chest was tight, filled with pity for this strange creature before him, and a profound loss for the friend who once dwelt there.

“Bilbo...?” The hobbit strode over quickly to his side. “The enemy will show us no mercy. If you wish to make it back to your Shire, it will probably be in your best interest to avoid direct battle when the time comes.” 

“What are you talking about? I will be there with the others.” 

“There are deep, maze-like caverns in the mountain. You could take to them if we are attacked. I can show you the pathways.”

Bilbo tried to get a read of Thorin's expression—he still stared out upon the hoard. “I'm not going to leave you, not until... not until this is all over.” He took Thorin's arm with both his hands and held him reassuringly. “I will stand with Dwalin and Bofur, Gloin, Nori, everyone... if there's anything I can do to help them I will.” 

“Do not lump yourself together with the rest. While I am certain they will fight for this mountain, we know there is one amongst them who cannot be trusted, and more who would cover for them.” 

“No—no... They wouldn't, Thorin. They have nothing but the greatest respect for you... you do not need a stone to be their king.” 

He finally looked at Bilbo, his expression held a certain softness the he'd only seen once or twice since they arrived in Erebor.

“You are a naïve hobbit.”

“Maybe.” Bilbo shrugged. He held tightly to Thorin and pulled him away from the rail, guiding him to sit on the floor. “But you are a tired, stubborn dwarf.” Thorin gripped Bilbo's hand, large fingers woven between his. For a moment it was nice, to sit there huddled together in pleasant quiet. And what a splendid life it could have been. If no one wanted for gold, if no one went to war, if no one judged, if all could find joy in simple kisses, fresh bread and warm fires. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost imagine the smell of the flowers in his garden, almost feel the warm sun against his face, the softness of his bed, with the gentle caress of Thorin's fingers against his own. But the reality of the situation wasn't far from Bilbo's thoughts. He wanted to cry. 

It was for the best, he knew. He'd taken Thorin to bed, made sure he was asleep, and bolted off into the night to deliver the Arkenstone. Hoping that eventually Thorin would come around and forgive him for what he was about to do. Hoping someday he would realize he did it out of love.

When he got what he hoped for, he was not at all happy about it. 

It had been many days since Bilbo left his former companions behind to return home. The death and destruction still weighted him down, and he missed Thorin especially. 

He looked down from the sky and over to Gandalf, sat beside him by the fire. 

“I don't want to forget them. I don't want anyone to forget them,” the hobbit said quietly. 

“That would be unheard of! You spent enough time with dwarves to know how fond they are of storytelling, almost irritatingly so. The legend of Thorin, son of Thrain, will be one not soon tired of, I assure you.” Gandalf managed to sound almost jovial. 

“Not like that,” Bilbo interjected. “The way he was... sentimental, caring. The way he looked after us all...”

“Small, tender moments do not make for exciting tales at parties, Bilbo. Those memories are your treasures to keep.”

The hobbit wiped his nose with his sleeve and smiled. 

As empty as he felt without him could not be as empty as he was never knowing him, he was sure. And although joy took a long time to find him again, Bilbo believed a life of misery was no proper tribute. He would go on to plant his trees and share his stories.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate when things are sad, so I tried not to be too sad.
> 
> First time posting a fic in 80 billion years--please be kind. :)


End file.
